Memories of an Amnesiatic Violet
by Leedle-leedle-lee
Summary: "My first memory is waking up."
1. Violet Flowers Gets Named and Shot

My first memory is waking up. I've no knowledge of myself, but I _know_ that I know how to make a killer pancake and that there's just enough breeze for me to have to aim a little to the left with my recurve if I wanted the arrow on dead target. I have no idea how I know, but I do.

I look at myself. It feels rather like meeting a familiar stranger, someone you might've known when you were too young to remember and haven't seen since, but you can still recognize... Ish.

The - my - hair is too short for me to see the color of, and it seems to be very knotted all about my ears and head. My hands, when I lift them to observe, are rather light in the skin tone chart, and adorned with thick callouses across my middle three fingers on both sides, the product of rapidly firing many arrows without gloves to keep the string from cutting the skin. I was almost obscenely thin (_from lack of food,_ my subconcious piped up), my pelvis with a thin layer of skin stretched tight across peeping from where my black shirt seems to have rode up. Black jeans sheathed a very long, lean legs, ones good for running like heck, which were tucked into a set of worn combat boots.

Sitting up, I found a bow, quiver, and many a knife spread around the sleeping bag I was laying on. There was a metal framed pack behind me, and absolute silence stretching on from... Where ever I was. Nothing moved, nothing breathed. Weak sunlight illuminated what seemed to be a storage area.

And then there was a scream. Long, high pitched, ending in a sickening gurgle.

Time to leave.

My body packed everything with out my knowledge, tucking knives into every possible nook or cranny, rolling and securing my sleeping bag, shouldering the pack and quiver in just such a way I knew I'd be able to draw and nock my weapon before anyone could blink. The recurve, a good fifty-five-ish pound draw and with a spot to lay an arrow on each side (_meaning you - we - can shoot both ways_, my subconcious noted), was in my hand and I was running. Hard and fast.

While I fled, I thought on what I knew. After all, runing doesn't take much thought.

Aliens, which I seemed inclined to call 'twitchies', and their mechanical counterparts ('da Mobbies') had invaded. Bad, bad things had happened. I don't know my part in any of these things, other than the fact that I was the lucky one-out-of-every-ten that managed to live and the even luckier one-out-of-_those_-survivers-every-twenty who wasn't 'brainwashified in the spine ('BITS')'.

The sound of a twitchie's many legs scabbled behind me. I cursed under my breath and sped up, simultaniously letting my hands nock an arrow on the right since they seemed to know how to do so without any real thinking on my part. A deadly, razor-ified tip gleamed in the watery morning light as I pounded down the street as fast as I could.

Twitchie started pushing his legs faster. I cursed even louder, switching into a very colorful assortment of different languages which I knew no words but bad ones in. I ducked into an alley, nearly buffing it on an overturned truck at the corner. My pursuer seemed to be getting the slightest bit farther behind, which was a relief.

Then I heard the heavy _thunk, thunk_ of one of da Mobbies and a highly imposing chainlink fence came into view. Crap.

Seeing no other choice, I readied myself to vault over it and made my steps as light and speedy as I could. 5... 4... 3...

The twitchie and his Mob buddy made very angry sounds at my back. 2... 1...

A screech, a hiss, the rattle of the fence as I grabbed the top and swung, the rush of air as I flew through it, the dizzing whirl as I hit the ground and rolled, and then I sprang to my feet, recurve still loaded. I'd think on these sensations later, let myself get shocked dumb after I saved my skin, 'cause there would be no later otherwise.

Warm lazerbeams from da Mobbie's gun aimed in on the back of my head. I dug deeper and threw myself out of the mouth of the alley before he could shoot. Safety... For a half second at least.

That half second wasn't wasted. I barreled a ways down the block, and after a sufficient amount I spun to the twitchie who'd apparently said ta-ta to da Mobbie, and aimed. Chest heaving and knees quivering from exertion, but arms steady and bow at the ready, I carefully (but quickly) calculated what I needed... And let go.

I missed by the slightest bit, catching it in the throat. It dropped anyways, so no matter.

Honestly, I just wanted to leave the thing to a long, drawn out death like its kind was imposing on this world, but I didn't. Walking was a little odd, what with the quaking in my legs, and I had an arrow at the ready the whole time, but I made sure the thing was fully dead before pulling out my arrow. Sickly black blood was all over it - I grabbed a nearby abandoned shirt to clean it before replacing it into the quiver with the others.

I saluted the twitchie, dipping a bit with the movement. "You almost had me there."

And then I meandered away to find a bench to settle down on and figure out why I didn't know a thing about myself, even if I knew a lot about everything else. And why I was far too used to nearly being killed first thing in the morning.

How'd I get here? I was in Boston, I knew, but _how _did I get here? Who brought me? How old am I? Did I have any family? Was anyone looking for me?

After a time, my head was hurting, and I had to give up. I was a nameless, faceless, lost little girl in a twitchie-kill-human world. I seemed to know a lot about bows, how to survive, and music. I tried to sing a few notes, found that they could probably kill a walrus, and silenced myself for my own sake.

Oh, and there was a set of dog tags around my neck. I somehow knew they weren't mine, but maybe they belonged to a family member. _L. H. Flowers_, they read, and a random assortment of numbers. I rubbed my finger across them, wondering what they meant, before my stomach chose to growl loudly.

"Hush, hush now," I told it. "I'll go to that store around the block and take something soon."

Yes, I was indeed pathetic enough to talk to my stomach. Don't comment on it.

There was a squeak and footsteps. They were bipedal, and far too soft to be one of da Mobbies'. Human. I gripped my bow but didn't load, turning slowly to where the sound had come from.

It was a little girl, dirty hair and skin, fraying clothes, and big brown eyes. Her lip was wobbling, and she was far too young to be a BITS.

"Come here, hon. I won't hurt you." I lowered the bow to reinforce that, holding out my arms to show I wasn't armed in any other way.

She surprised the carpal tunnel outta my abused fingers by throwing herself into my arms and sobbing hysterically onto my shoulder. Hesitantly, I hugged her and settled her onto my lap, disturbed to find that she was far too light for a six-to-seven year old. Some time later, I was rocking her back and forth, running a hand through her grimy locks, and soothing her out of crying.

Let's add 'good with kids' to the list of things I seemed to have knowledge in. Maybe I had littler siblings I used to setle into naps or something of the like. Maybe.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"My mommy said my daddy is going to be in Boston, but I can't find him and she's all gone," she sniffled. "My brother was taken a week ago, and he was the one taking care of me. Now I don't have any food, and I'm cold, and I'm scared, and I'm... All... Alone!" She wailed and buried her face in my chest.

"What's your name?" I urged, rubbing her back.

"Clairabel. Mommy called me Claire and Wes liked to say I was like a belle. Whatever that meant."

"Okay, Clairabel, who's your daddy?"

"I don't remember. I never met him. Wes says he was really stupid, though."

Well, here it goes. Maybe I'm retarded, maybe I'm just a sucker for tears... "I'll take care of you."

Her tears had carved through the dirt on her face, and revealed that she was rather pink cheeked. "Really?"

"Really." Hoisting myself upright, she stayed glued across my waist without me even needing to support her. I threw the bow over the shoulder not blocked by my new charge, and started off to the market. We're gonna get her a good meal, new clothes, and a backpack all her own.

"Where are we going? Who are you?" Apparently, the idea of not having to fend for herself had put her in an instantly curious and very good mood.

"We're going to the store, and I don't really have a name."

Her eyes were wide. "You don't have a name?"

"Nope."

"What's the thingie on your neck say? _Flo..._" She paused and scruitinized my dog tags. "_Flowers_. Is your name Flowers?"

"No, I don't think so." When she deflated, I quickly tried to amend it. "You can give me a name, though."

She perked right back up. "How about soemthin' to do with flowers?"

"Whatever you want, hon."

"Daisy? ... No. You don't look like a Daisy. Lily? Nah, Stacy had a frog named Lily and it attacked me and Jace kept teasing me about it... Um." She stared at me very hard, looking insanely concentrated for soemone her age. "You look like a Violet. All dark on the outside." She looked quite proud of herself.

"Okay. Violet I am. What's my last name?"

"Flowers. Duh."

"And what's your last name?"

"Richards."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Purple. Or green. Is this it?"

"Yep. I'm gonna have to put you down, though, so I can make sure no one bad is in there."

Reluctantly, she let me put her on the ground, but she made sure to keep a little finger through my belt loop. I loaded an arrow, led her in, and we did our shopping. A couple of hours later, we'd had a good filling dinner, she was washed and clean, all of the necessitiees were 'purchased', she'd been nicknamed 'Air' since I stumbled over her name one time, and I was settling her into a bed since there was one available.

"Violet?"

"Hm?"

"Do you know a lullaby?"

Cringing a little at the memory of my 'music', I shook my head. "Believe me, Air, you don't wanna hear my singing."

"Please?"

"No."

She gave me the puppy dog face, pouting so adorable-ly I could actually _feel_ my will breaking. In a last ditch effort: "You need your sleep, hon."

"Fine. But you will one day."

"Sure, Air."

Now she sobered, looking at me with those big brown doe's eyes. "Will you stay next to me? Wes always did..."

"Of course. Scoot over."

Soon she was curled up to me, asleep, and all was silent. The hours passed slowly and it was dusk when the roar of a truck and... Was that a motorcycle? Maye two. A door opened, probably off at the loading dock, and the sound of people echoed through the empty space.

"Mommy?" Clair mumbled fuzzily as I scooped her up to begin leaving.

"Um..." I precariously loaded my bow. "Hush, honey. Everything fine." Where's the nearest exit?

"Who's that?" It was a male voice, obviously having heard my whisper. "Who's there?"

"Mommy? Why's somebody yelling?"

Crap, crap, crap. "Don't worry, honey." I tested my ability to pull back without injury to my charge, who'd clamped onto me again, and found it good enough. "Just go back to sleep."

"Show yourselves!"

"You guys do so too," I called back. Slowly, people stepped into the last dregs of light. I let them know of my position.

"Who's that, Mommy?"

Continuing on with this acting like her mom thing in hopes of getting her to sleep and therefore not freaked out, I soothed her as best I could without hugging. "Don't worry about it, honey. Mommy will take care of everything. She just needs you to go back to sleep."

"You're with child?" This voice was older.

I blinked a bit at the odd phrasing, but shrugged it off. "Yes." _Not my own child, though..._

"Weapons down," the same voice ordered to the others. "We are not shooting a mother."

Wow. This whole mother thing might've just saved my life and limb. Cautious, I unloaded and put the recurve over my shoulder before resituating Clair in hopes of getting her into a more sleep inducing position.

"Thanks. So... Who're you lot?"

"Second Mass, part of the Resistance."

"Violet Flowers, not quite sure what she's doing." There was a bit of a chuckle to my right, coming from a teen and the tween next to him. Both were armed, but niether were aiming for me. I feel so loved.

"_Mommy_," Clair whined, probably annoyed with the vibrations through my ribcage. "I'm _tireeeeeed_." About twenty seconds later, she was sleeping contentedly with her curly blonde head on my chest.

I snorted quietly to myself, hitching her up a bit when she slipped. "What're your names?"

"What is the girl's?"

"Clairabelle."

"I'm Tom, he's..." He listed more, but I wasn't quite listening.

I'd heard something and now I was hoping I was just plain crazy. Nope. No such luck. The sound of a twitchie in the rafters - er, the top of the store shelves. Crap. Did anyone else hear here? No one notices the eyes?

Settling Clair back onto the bed, I slowly shed my things and then drew my bow. Suddenly, the guns were back on me. No big surprise there. But I ignored the threats of being swiss-cheese-ified and aimed above the head of the brunette teen. His eyes widened, and he aimed back at me. Once more, not that I'd blame him.

Unfortunately, he twitchie noticed me and started moving faster, down so he was hiding in the area behind Mr. Teen's head. I sidestepped quickly and fired, grimancing when someone shot me twice, rapid fire. At least it was in the thigh, and no bones were damaged, though I don't know if it hit that big important atrery. _That'd _suck.

The twitchie hit the ground with a big _ker-splat_ while I tumbled very ungracefully to the lineloium. Blood was already spilling, and it was going dark around the edges of my vision, which barely registered the shocked faces of the peoples as they turned to the twitchie and then back to bleedin' little ol' me.

Just before I passed out (hey, you try getting shot in the leg and _then_ you can call me a wimp) I heard Clair begin wailing and the dude named Tom start shouting...

About... Mr. Teen's...

... Something...

And then all was black and cold and silent.


	2. First Day in the Second Mass

When I woke up, I encountered an assortment of people I didn't know, Clair hugging the arm of another curly blondie, 'Tom', and the teen who'd shot me. Oh, and a lot of pain, but I pushed that down as well as I could, 'cause Clair's big brown eyes were already watery and who knows what'd happen if I showed her I wasn't perfectly fine.

So I opted to blink slowly and pull myself into a sitting position. I was in something akin to a hospitial bed, those thin sheets over my jeans. I could feel a wrap under them on my lower right thigh, probably to keep the blood down. A lady in white was bustling around the room, attending to others. I rolled my shoulders a bit and cracked my knuckles for something to do, since eveyrone esle seemed adverse to chatting, then extended my arms to Clair.

"Violet!" she screeched, detaching herslf from the seven-to-eight year old boy and full out tackling me. It hurt, a _lot_, but this little girl was emotionally fragile and I sure as heaven wasn't gonna set her off. "I thought you were _dead_."

Mr. Teen ducked his head ashamedly while I rubbed her back. Okay, so _someone_'s wallowing in shame.

"I'm fine, hon." I was rather proud of not letting my voice break as I said it. "Where are we?"

"With the 2nd Mass, Ms. Flowers." Awkwardly, Tom continued. "I apologize for my son's behavior."

"No lasting harm done. Who're these people?"

Finaly seating herself firmly on my good thigh, Clair scooped up the dog tags from out of the lip of my shirt and beggan to fiddle with them.

The little boy watched her quietly then stepped foreward to seat himself on the edge of my bed and next to her. I eyed him with a bit of a laugh - apparently Clair liked him as much as she liked me, 'cause she reached out blindly to grab his wrist. Now, he was blushing lightly _but_ letting her almost hold his hand. What happened to cooties?

"I'm Matt Mason," he bravely began. "My dad brought you back here."

"He's really nice," Clair whispered in my ear before returning to playing with the tags.

I grinned and shook my head a little. "It's great to meet you, Matt. I'm Violet."

"Clair told me that already."

Next stepped a blonde woman who looked very business. "Maggie."

The rest introduced themselves, except for Mr. Teen, who was hunched down in back. Soon, they filtered away - Matt letting Clair hug his arm as they left for their makeshift school lesson, Tom and Anne Glass discussed something in the corridor, Jimmy and the others filed out to get to lunch, and Maggie left with a smirk and a few words. That just left me and Mr, Teen, who was trying to be as little as possible.

"Well, 'ello," I said. "Anything ya need?"

Fidgeting with his fingers, Mr. Teen was lookin' real anxious. Then he sucked in a deep breath and straightened to look me in the eye.

"I'm sorry I shot you. Twice. Anne says you should be able to walk still, though... Once it heals, of course."

"Don't feel bad about it - I probably would've done the same if our roles'd been reversed."

"But I still shot. _Twice!_ And you had a kid with you - one I just scarred for life because I shot someone right in front of her. The girl's six, if, and I could've missed and hit her just as easi - "

"_But you didn't_, so stop moaning about it." It was a half-shout, just loud enough to get him to shut up. "Thank you."

"All you did was kill a skitter, and I nearly shot you to death. How is that fai - "

"You wanna repay me, Mr. Hero-Of-The-World? Will that stop you from giving me a headache?"

Yeah, it was abrupt and snappy and very rude, but I was getting tired of his 'I'm-Soooooo-In-The-Wrong-And-I'm-Really,-Really,-Really-Sorry'-ness. So sue me.

"I'll do anything."

"Give me your name, then. And that's it."

He stared at me oddly. "Hal. Hal Mason."

"Nice to meet ya, Hal. Violet Flowers, at your service. How long have I been out?"

"A day or so."

"What's today?"

"Tuesday."

"Is there any edible food around?"

"Bland but edible, yes."

"How's Clair been?"

"Crying."

"At least she's better now... Where's my recurve?"

"Recurve?"

"Bow."

"Oh, it's in - "

"The room," a new voice interjected from the door. I turned to the intruder. Blonde, tall, my age, almost-tan-but-not-quite, wearing a grey tee and baggy jeans. I had absolutley no idea who he was.

"Who're you?"

"Ben Mason."

"How many Masons are there?"

"Dad, Hal, me, and Matt."

"No more?"

He chuckled. "No more."

"So... Where's my recurve?"

"In our room."

"Our room?"

"The room Clair and us Masons are in."

"Oh, that's..." I glanced around. "Where'd Hal go? He was here just a second ago."

"He ran off, probably to Weaver."

"Weaver?"

"Commander of the Second Mass."

"Ah. This is a mixed civilian and military group?"

"Essentialy, yes." He padded deeper into the room. "Hal feels absolutley horrible for what he did. 'Specailly when Clair was adament you were dead and sobbing all over poor Matt."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and hunched over to begin lacing up the boots. "What'd she do after that?"

"Insisted she sleep in the same cot as Matt, who didn't quite understand what was going on."

"Well, at least he comforted her."

"Yeah... You should've seen the look on his face when she climbed into bed with him."

Tying my last double knot in a moment of comfortable silence, I attempted to stand. I failed and landed hard on the bed. "Ben, will you help me? I need to get to my bag and recurve." I hoisted myself back over the edge and looked to him.

Ben was just staring, bewildered. "But... I'm a razorback. Everyone hates razorbacks."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Razorba - " He turned enough to show the spines running up his back. "Oh, ex-BITS. I've no problem with you, and I'm frankly in need of support."

"You sure? People don't like touching razorbacks..."

"Quite. Now come here and help me."

He was surprisingly strong for such a wiry kid, and had me upright rather eaily. The new explosion of pain from my leg made me a little woozy, and I sunk into his side unashamedly. Man, that _hurt._ I fisted his shirt to keep standing, and he gingerly wrapped and arm around my waist, as if he _wasn't_ used to girls almost passing out on him. Gasp! Who would've thunk.

"This is gonna be fun," I breathed into his shoulder since it was the thing my head had flopped on.

"Buckets of fun," he agreed, blushing a tad. "You sure you want a razorback holding you up?"

"Yep, you're doing fine. Was just a shock, is all; caught me off guard. Let's get outta here before Dr. Glass notices. Something about hospitials make me want to run."

"I understand; I only got out a few days ago from getting my harness removed."

"A harness is the thing that twitc - er, skitters, I think you guys call them - stick to your backs?"

"Yeah. They were... Odd. Real wet."

The going was slow and painful, but we managed out the door and down the hall, me mostly supported by him. The hall itself was crowded, people oggling and moving enough to let us through.

"What's with them?" I huffed, silencing the groan I wanted to let out when I stepped with the bad thigh. "Never seen a guy half carrying a girl?"

He laughed awkwardly, gently pulling me up when I mis-stepped and nearly toppled over. "A day and a half ago, you were dragged in here, bleeding like mad, by my father, who was also towing this cute little girl who was nearly hysterical. Next they see of you, you've got a newly awakened razorback with his arms around you. They like gossip. Put two and two together."

Tilting my head, I pretended to think. "The razorback and I are off to have a romantic escapade since the razorback's brother decided to hunt the razorback up a good female as part of an evil scheme, I'm guessing. Shouldn't you be sweeping me off my feet, th - "

I put a little too much weight on my bad leg and began on a journey towards the floor. Ben was jerked along for the ride, me scrambling to grab on to whatever I could to keep myself from breaking my butt on the floor. He saved the pair of us by bracing against a wall, which left me holding myself up on his slightly bent knees. Everyone around rubber necked and watched us like a sitcom. Aggrivating twits.

At least my butt was safe.

He looked down to me, a truly spectacular blush on his cheeks, and I looked up at him, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

"This is embarassing," I stated simply.

"Yea - "

"Didn't know you had it in you, razor prince." Ben twitched and pulled me to my feet in a blink, turning us both to see who'd spoken. It was some man with vaguely female hair and a thin face. Ther - _Were those twitchie feelies on a necklace?_ Ewwwww.

"Go away, Pope."

"And miss the rare razorback mating ritual? I think not. Who's the pretty miss you've marked your princess?"

"_We're_ leaving," Ben spat, helping me to begin away.

"Oooh, going to get a room are we? You should wait for the children to be evacuated? It's only another week or two before the _big invasion_." He rolled his eyes. "Don't want any scarred for life, eh razor royalty?"

Cautiosly, I reached for the wet spot I could feel on my bad leg. My finger came back faintly red. Crap.

"Hello? Anyone listening? Don't tell me you picked up a mute princess, little razorback prince."

Ben gave a bit of a spasam. I murmured to him: "You can always just pick me up and get away from this nutcase faster. I haven't got a problem with it."

We exchanged glances while this Pope man continued blathering on about... Something I wasn't listening to.

"You sure?"

"Don't wanna carry this load?" I challenged, smirking slightly.

With that, he swept my feet out from under me bridal style and began off a lot quicker. The Pope man seemed to deem us a lost cause and muttered something about going back to the kitchens. In under a minute, we were turning into a room lined with cots. I spotted my black pack, quiver, and recurve shoved under one and limped for it as soon as my boots met the ground.

While I flipped through the contents of my backpack, Ben watched from the door.

"What's with you and loitering in doorways? It's not like I'm gonna go AWOL on you for stepping in."

Haltingly, he went over to the cot nearest mine and began to make the bed slowly and precisely. I tossed the sleeping bag out carelessly and slid the top of my jeans off, finding a concerningly red bandage.

Bending back over to unearth my personal first aid kit, I adressed myself and then commenced changing into a pair of pants that didn't have bullet holes in them. Call me a trendsetter.

"Is there a seamstress around here?"

He turned questioningly, and then spun right back, making a very 'manly' sqeaking sound. I rolled my eyes and pulled the pants the rest of the way up. Seriously? He's _that_ modest? He must've _died_ when they had to take his shirt off to remove the BITSifier/harness/thing if he's gurgling at the sight of my underwear.

"I'm dressed, dear. No need for the hyperventalation," I called over my shoulder as I stretched down to tie up the boots again, this time with a knife sheathed in each. It made me feel safer, so don't give me that look.

"Um..." He paused to pull himself together. "No, it's kind of a do-it-yourself thing."

"I don't think I can sew... Eh, no problem. I'm sure I'll find someone." Half folding the other pair of pants, I tossed them down beside me then went back to my pack.

"What're you looking for?"

"Dunno. I haven't had the time to hit the bottom yet, and I'm hoping I can find something to - ah." Four pictures were pulled out into open air. "Something like these."

Three had a girl I assumed was me, since she had the face I'd found in a mirror back at the store, and all featured a brown haired boy just a tad taller. We were laughing in one, leaning against one another as if we'd just gotten done running a marathon, in a matching dress and tux. I had on an absolutley _insane_ pair of heels, and they were a glittering red. His har was sticking up in back, as if someone'd just gotten done running a hand through it.

In another, we were sitting on a bench-swing hanging down from a massive weeping willow. His arm was around my waist and my head was on his shoulder; we both wore tattered jeans and tanks (his a red wife beater and mine just a strappy green summer thing). My reddish-blonde hair was longer, braided over my my shoulder, and I had on what looked to be a gold locket. And... He was wearing dog tags? I squinted at the page, hopeful, but couldn't disconcern anything.

Picture three was just him. He had his head tilted slightly, a quirk to his lips and a mysterious gleam in his brown eyes. His brown hair was combed neatly off to one side, brushing the tips of his tan ears. And there, barely in the bottom of the photo, was the tags. _L. H. Flowers._ Was he my brother? A best friend who'd forked these over before he'd died? Did we have any other type of relation?

Number four had him and me with bows (my recurve vs his compound) at what seemed to be a shooting range, a bullseye with two different fletching types on the ends of the arrows proudly displayed just behind us. I was grinning dumbly at the camera in the shot, flashing my chompers and in mid-waggle of my eyebrows with all possible dorky glory. He was smiling softly at me, all seven colors of gushey. I returned that one to the back of the pile, 'cause Mystery Boy and his current look was far too familiar not to be able to remember.

"Who's that?"

Sadly, I smiled. "I wish I knew. But he seemed to own my dog tags previous to me, so he had to've been dear to my heart." I tucked the pictures back into my pack and made to stand, slinging the quiver over my shoulder on my way. Then, using my recurve Gandalf style after making sure there was a plastic covering on the ends, I limped to the exit. "Will you stay near me? I don't much feel like exploring alone just yet."

Ben complied easily, deftly opening the door before me. "May I guide you on a tour?"

"Please do."

As he showed me around, he explained the current situation and the reason why Tom's people were in the store. Apparently, after these kind people tried to steal all of the medical supplies and were kindly kicked to the road, some Terry Clayton had come to warn from now-non-existant 7th Mass about twitchies coming to steal the children, and they were gathering as many supplies as they could to keep everyone stocked while they split up.

Everywhere we went, people gawked. Either at my 'staff', Ben, my quiver, or whatever esle they deemed odd. Tards, the lot of them.

When we ran out of things to tour inside and bring me up to date on, we headded out and began to chat.

"So... You're a good shot."

I gave Ben a weird look. "Depends on what I'm aiming at, how far away it is, wind resistance, fletching state, and a million other things."

"Yes or no?"

"Eh. Where'd you get the bus?"

"It's a school. They generally have busses there."

"_Really?_ I _never_ would've guessed. Thank you, dear, Thank you."

"No problem, really."

I snorted and glanced around. "Is that an open range?"

"Those are usually found a little more Westwa - "

"Shut up. You know what I meant."

He eyed the area for a moment. "I'm pretty sure. No one's out there at the moment, so you're free to shoot. But I wouldn't advise it in your current condition."

"I know, I know; lame leg. I'm just lookin'."

"Sure."

Glowering at him, I turned back around to begin towards the kitchen. He was chuckling as he trotted up to open the back doors. We returned to the stares and I had to have a mental battle to keep myself from getting stupid and saying what I was thinking. Some man popped out in front of me, and I paused to listen. When he just stood there, I got a tad impatient.

"What do you need, sir? I've got an injury and you're keeping me from my hospitial bed." Okay, that was a lie, but he didn't know it.

"Why are you hanging around with that trash, missy?"

I gave him the 'Did-You-Get-Out-On-A-Day-Pass?' look. "What trash, pray tell?"

"That _razorback_." For extra emphasis, he glanced pointedly to the blondie next to me, who was giving him a dark glare in return.

"You say it like Ben's _not_ gone through months directly under a tw - er, _skitter_'s three fingers when you've been traveling in the post-apoctalyptic equivalent of luxury."

"Luxury?" It was his turn to give the 'Did-You-Get-Out-On-A-Day-Pass' look. "What's so great about what little I've got?"

"You've got it easy, sir. Not having to scavenge for food where ever you can, not having to go to bed wondering if you're gonna get to wake up, _not_ having to literally fight to the death against whatever those aliens throws at you. Be happy with what you've got and stop being so pathetic as to mock a boy less than a third of your age for managing to survive against the odds. It's depressing, and certainly shows a limited amount of brain power."

He turned purple and shockwaves of silence moved through the hall, these people holding their breath to see what'd happen. At about the point I was mildly worried he'd fizzled the last of his brain cells, he finally took a breath. I smiled politely and turned to leave.

"How would you know what's happening out there? Rumor has it you can't remember a thing about yourself."

Ooooh. Low blow, man. Low blow.

Polite smile still in place, I returned to looking at the man. "I may not know myself, but I know my enviorment. I may not know my name, but I know what it's like to run for my life. I may not know who my parents were, but I know what sound a person makes when they're attacked by a skitter versus - you guys call them mechs, right? I may not know how old I am, but I know what it's like to be shot by someone who didn't mean to shoot. I don't know where I came from, but I know what it's like to starve. Can you say the same? That you've had _such_ a _hard time,_ what with having other people do your cooking, cleaning, protecting, and thinking?"

A few moments. Then: "I highly doubt you've been able to outrun a mech or a skitter."

Avoiding the question much? I opened my mouth to ask when I felt Clair grab the belt loop on my good hip and wrap her other arm around my thigh like it was a large teddy bear. She was glaring murderously (or as murderously as a six-to-seven year old, really adorable, curly blonde haired girl could manage) at the old man.

"I saw her going really fast past both. They couldn't catch her."

Aww. I just love this little kid.

"And then she turned around when the robot had to give up, and shot the alien." Pausing dramatically, as if retelling a ghost story instead of a murder, she held my leg tighter and gave everyone a wide eyed stare. "Right. In. The. Throat."

No one quite knew what to do, say, or think, so I began hobbling in the general direction of the cafeteria. Cheerily, Clair kept her finger in my belt loop and filled me in on her first day of school, which made me feel like her mother more so than the lady who's protecting her. It was a nice change, truly. Ben kept giving me glances as we walked, though, and I really couldn't decode them.

"Yeah, and then Matt and I had recess. I got to play on the bus, and he showed me this really cool spot, but it's a secret, so I can't tell you where it is. And then we went back in and Uncle Scott taught us about the solar system. Poor Pluto. And then Samantha - she's really rude a lot - asked where the aliens came from. Uncle Scott said he didn't know. If somebody as smart as Uncle Scott doesn't know, then nobody does. But where do you think they came from?"

"A place where nothing's left."

She chewed on that for a bit. "Then who blames them for coming to us. I just wish they could've tried to fit in better instead of killing everything."

"Yeah, you and me both, Air. Would like soup or a PB&J?"

"Cut the crusts off."

"Will do." I looked towards the lady in front of me. "May I get a sandwitch and a soup, please?"

She smiled sweetly and handed me both. I managed, somehow, to get us to a table, Ben following with his own PB&J. Clair sat next to me and ate her food with relish (once I removed the offending crust and crumbled it into my thin, unknown type of soup. The soup itself wasn't bad, but it certainly wasn't good.).

Once Clair had to go back to school, Ben and I returned to wandering and talking.

He told me about his life before the invasion and I told him about different places I knew (even if I didn't know what I was doing there). I think I'd spent quite some time down in Alabama, because I knew 'Sweet Home Alabama' better than I knew the Pledge of Allegiance... Or that's what it felt like. Plus I knew a lot of places down there and I could probably walk the six miles around that willow in the picture with my eyes closed. And how to make a rack of ribs that would have Jack the Ripper bowing in respect.

Anne found me at dinner, and looked about ready to flay me alive as she demanded I get back into the makeshift hospitial. I pleaded and begged and nearly got down on my knees until she let me sleep with the others in the room.

"If you get infected, Violet, it's going to be _your_ fault. Don't came dragging your leg to me for amputations." And then she gave me a dead tired half smile. "You should be okay in a few weeks. Try not to reopen your wounds too often."

"Yes, ma'am." I saluted her lightly and returned to the unknown substance they were serving me.

"Violet?"

"Yes, Air?"

"Do I have to go with the other kids?"

"Um." I gathered my wits. "Honestly, from what Ben's told me, I don't really want to send you with this stranger. Sure, everyone I'm ever gonna meet is a stranger, but I find it odd how he knows just what those twitchies plan to do... And, well... I just have a bit of a bad feeling about him."

"So that means I don't?"

"Yes, hon, you don't have to. But if I'm wrong, I want you hiding, 'kay?"

Clearing his throat uneasily, Tom looked at me apologetically. "Violet, you're injured, so we're sending you with the children and the civillians. Weaver said."

I frowned. "Fine. But I want to have a chat with Weaver and that Terry. I need some reassurances, and I have a proposition."

"What type?" Ben asked curiously.

"Classified info, dearest."

Hal snorted into his plate when Ben flushed. Apparently blondie isn't used to nicknames. At least his older bro's letting loose a little more; I thought he was gonna be guarded and ashamed forever. Well, not _forever,_ but certainly a longer time.

"Are you blushing, Benny?" Hal cackled when 'Benny' turned a darker shade and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Why I believe he is," Tom agreed, joining the teasing. "Hal, what do you think we should do with Blushing Benny?"

With a muffled groan, I stood. Clair jumped up and grabbed both of our plates, threw them away, and slid a little finger through my belt loop - it was becoming her past time.

"Go play with Matt," I advised quietly, "there's still some light out. I'll see you in the bedroom."

"Will you sing to me tonight?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "You don't wanna hear my singing, hon."

"Yeah I do."

"Believe me, you don't. Now I've gotta go."

Moping, she removed her finger and went to sit by Matt. Pausing, she turned back. "Love you."

"Love you too."

I had to ignore the emotions that welled up as I cripple-walked away. Who knew that being told that you were loved by a girl you hadn't known but three days (one of which you were catamose) would hit such strings?

Slowly but surely, I made it into Weaver's main meeting room. Jimmy was in there, dining with an old-ish man I assumed to be Weaver.

"Hello."

"Hey." I smiled at Jimmy, who waved me over, and limped up to the table. Doing a bit of a salute to Weaver, I began. "I am Violet Flowers, Mr. Weaver... Captain Weaver... Which ever name/title you prefer..."

"Weaver will do. What is it?"

"I'd like to sign up or try out or whatever to join your equivalent to the military."

He looked me up and down for a moment. "You're that girl Hal Mason shot, right? Standing up a day later is quite an achievement. I hear you're good with that bow of yours."

"I can aim well enough it seems."

"As you have to know, we're in the middle of an evacuation. The date of departure is nine days from now, and we _are_ in need of less civilians."

"She can run fast, sir," Jimmy added randomly. "I was out with Mike and Dai when I heard a skitter, mech, and one of the most - " he cast me a glance " - _interesting_ series of curses I've yet witnessed in the alley outside the building. Dai and Mike were too far inside to notice, but I was at the window. When I glanced out, I could see this black blur flying down the mouth of the alley, skitter and mech hot on her tail but getting farther and farther back. She sped up and jumped this chain link fence with one hand."

"Really?" Weaver was looking quite interested.

Thank you, Jimmy. You are the best thirteen-ish year old I had to've ever met. If you get me in, I'll find you something absolutely awesome.

"Yes. The other one had that bow she's leaning on and this wicked sharp arrow. Anyways, she got over it and kept running. The mech gave up but the skitter kept folowing. I missed the next bit, but I did get to the next window in time to see her pull back and fire. The skitter was shot in the throat, and dead by the time it hit the ground."

Jimmy, you rock. You are absolutely amazing. I bow down to you. Angels will sing when you walk. Thank you.

"I think she'll fit in really well, sir."

Weaver smiled - it was more a flashing of teeth, really - and nodded. "I trust Jimmy's judgement. You'll do. But we're more in need of scouts than fighters. There's only a handful and that's not enough. Once we're sure the kids are safe, I'll put you in with Mason's team as a scout. Until then, I could use a few more fighters to go with the civillian children."

"I'll go."

Yeah, sure, I had a bad feeling about it, but this might be able to get me out and shooting at twitchies. It'd only been a day, but my fingers were already iching to draw back my bowstring, and I don't think many people would appreciate me taking up part of the field to shoot for a few hours every day.

"Good. Pack well."

I nodded, thanked Jimmy as much as I could with my eyes and a smile, saluted Weaver, and hobbled back to the room. It was empty, so I checked my wound and went about making beds and doing general tiding. I didn't want to sit, but I didn't want to go back out into the bustle and stares of the halls.

Just as I was arranging the pillow and pink sleeping bag that marked Clair's cot, I heard someone come in. Twisting a little, I found Hal looking very tired. He flopped down in the cot second farthest from mine, one away from Clair's.

"What happened?"

He jumped a bit and seemed to see me for the first time since entering. "Um... Nothing."

"Yeah. Right. Spill your guts, boy."

"Nothing's wrong, Violet."

"Yes, and I remember my uncle's fiftieth birthday party. _Not_." I managed over to his cot and dropped down by his elbow. "I'm listening."

"Ifeelreallybadforshootingyou,andClairdoesn'ttrustme." He sucked in a breath. "."

"O-kay." I sorted through the jumbled mess and systematically answered.

"I'm sure Clair doesn't hate you for shooting me, and if you're so worried, I can just go talk with her. Matt seems like a sweet kid, and he absolutley loves his older brothers, so if he's giving you looks, they may not be what you think they are. As for feeling bad - just get over it. I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine. No tw - skitters have attacked, no one's dead yet, and I know first hand you can shoot well." I patted his back. "Just be happy."

"My girlfriend, Karen, was taken by skitters not so long ago. How can I be happy after that?" He twisted his head to give me a miserable face.

"I don't know who I am, who I can trust, what I can do, why I'm here, and how I'm still alive. Do you think I should focus on that, or the fact I'm around a group of people who don't seem outright hellbent on killing me? I'm not asking you to be skipping aroud singing, but you don't need to be moping. Not if you want to protect your family, life, and liberty." I shrugged lightly. "That's my thoughts on the subject."

He blinked slowly. "That actually makes sense. In the most absract, unusual manner."

"Thanks." I made to stand, but he put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. So I plopped back down. Not my fault if I accidentally get blood on his blankets.

"Do you want help finding out who you are?"

Cocking my head, I weighed my pros and cons. "Yes and no. Yes, to see where I came from, what I used to do, that kind of stuff. And no, 'cuase I can believe whatever I want and never be proven wrong. Plus, this whole no memories thing is really helpful to staying in the moment."

"How old do you think you are?"

Finally getting too twitchy to stay seated, even if sitting kept my leg from preparing to declare mutiny, I went back to organizing. "Old enough. Maybe fifteen? I like the number. But I might just say sixteen so I can 'legally' drive. As if there's any real laws to break around here."

"You look fifteen."

"'Kay. So I'm fifteen."

We continued discussing things like that until people began to trickle in and settle down for the night. I was glad we chatted, 'cause he seemed to have let go of the last of his guilt, which was good - I didn't like people being guilty for no reason. Clair begged for a song again, and I didn't give one through some strength of will I didn't know I had.

So instead she slid into my sleeping bag and slept deeply, the faintest snoring the only indicator she was still breathing. Matt seemed to love having his bed to himself and stretched out as far as he could. Hal just pulled the blankets up and rolled on his side. Ben was in the cot next to me, and he and I made faces at eachother until he fell asleep. Which left an empty spot for Tom and a very quiet night.

After a few hours and coming to the conclusion that there'd be more than enough warning if the school were ambushed, I let myself sleep.

Yes, indeed, I am _that_ paranoid.


	3. Sun Tzu's Art of War and Mission Pancake

It was two or three hours to dawn when someone opened the door. Until then, I'd been sleeping fitfully, and now I had my knife at the ready for the intruder. What happened to me in my past that made me wake up so dang easily? Oh, right. Twitchies. Among other things.

"It's just me," Tom said, eyeing my blade. "What happened while I was gone?"

"Everyone slept." I tucked the sharp object back into its sheathe and under my pillow for safe keeping. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Its instinctual, I'd wager. Through histrory it's been well documented that those who'd been in wartime situations had the same type of reflex. I can't recall what it was called at the moment, though."

"Ah. What took you so long to get back?"

"Weaver briefed me on our new scout. Congrads."

Striking a stupid pose, I tried my best to be haughty. "I'd like to thank the Academy. And Jimmy, of course, for his convincing skills..."

Tom snorted and shucked his coat. "Yeah... Mike's concerned about it, though. His son's about your age, so he feels that everyone also in that age group shouldn't have to do any hard work. He'll take some more convincing than Weaver."

"I'll just ask Jimmy to say something."

He flopped face down onto his bed. There was a muffled form of "'Night", and snores. I laughed softly and slid out of Clair's grip. Now that everyone was back, I thought I might as well assist the kitchen crew. It was off to a little store I went, after writing a note to Weaver (so he didn't think I was some crazy traitor who'd run off) and cleaning up the bullet wound plus old bandages.

There was a not-totally-tiny store stuffed into the back of a local library that I think they'd missed about a half mile from the school, and after steeling myself to beat the crap out of any twitchie that came within recurve wacking distance, I got me eight or nine of those gigantic bags of dry pancake mix. Two days worth, if I was lenient on the fluffiness factor.

My staff, the little red wagon on a rope tied to my waist, the pancake mixes, a whole bunch of chocolate chips, a couple of containers of veggie oil so nothing stuck to the pans, and many gallons of water later, I was fixin' to make breakfast for three hundred and fourteen people.

Weaver caught me just inside the door. His hair was sticking up at many an odd angle, he had crusties around his eyes, but he was grinnin'.

"Well, well, well. You sure know how to win the hearts and stomaches of our civillians. And who's going to make these pancakes, Miss Flowers?"

I limped beside him, headded for the kitchens. The halls were deserted, it was so early.

"Firstly, sir, these are going to be _chocolate chip_ pancakes. Secondly, I don't think my last name actually is Flowers, 'cause it feels odd. Violet is my preferance, thanks. Number three - I can man five griddles on my own, each with six to seven large or twenty to twenty-five tiny pancakes. If I can stack them right, they'll still be warm by the time everyone else wakes up and I'll be completely finished."

"Really?" He looked rather impressed. "How do you know that?"

I furrowed my brow, resisting the urge to hiss when I stepped bad. "I don't quite know. It's like knowing that four plus five is nine, but not knowing when you learned it, yeah? It's just... Weird."

Weaver nodded like he got what I meant, even if I didn't really know what I meant. "Fine. But we only have gas cookers."

For a moment, I calculated. "I can pull that off. It might be just a tad harder and the late risers will have cold pancakes."

"Are you going to need other help?"

"I'll probably just make all the mix before hand. It's going to be poured by the time whomever it is gets done mixing, otherwise. It's kind of a continual process."

"So, you're fine?"

"Yep. You can have the first chocolate chip studded goodness when I get done with it, if you want to stick around the kitchen. I have enough for everyone to have two or three larges each. Wait..." A good idea hit me hard as we turned into the massive, empty kitchen. "How many children are there?"

"Fourty-five or fifty. Less."

"I'll make them mini pancakes, filled with a little more chocolate. D'you think they'll like it?"

"It's highly likely. Everyone here's been living off oatmeal for breakfast since the attack happened."

I scanned the room. Plenty of counter space, just enough cookers to keep me on my toes if I don't want a bunch of burnt batches, no one in view, cleaned to an almost OCD-ish level. I grabbed the largest bowl I could find and began. Thank goodness that there's no eggs needed.

For the next three hours I puttered around, chatting idly with Weaver and making the most massive breakfast ever attempted by a single individual. A few pancakes went crispy (either from a lack of proper oiling of the pans, neglect on my part, or a combo of the two) but I added them into the pile 'cause we didn't have the time to be picky.

Weaver had dubbed this thing 'Mission Pancake'. I forced him to add in 'Chocolate Chip' so no one would be confused. Oooh, and he regularily had to scare off the kitchen crew who were trying to get in, and soon enough made them go set up the cafeteria/gym for the breakfast rush.

The kitchen crew 'oooh'-ed and 'ahh'-ed appreciatively when I brought out the first round of pancakes in my handy dandy little red wagon. They helped me set up from there, and we soon had a herculean breakfast banquet layed out for those early risers. Everyone was commenting on the food, which made me feel special, and I've never seen kids so happy to see a table just for them full of double chocolate chip mini pancakes.

After, say, the second wave of estatic people and my first bite of pancake, I spotted the Masons and Clair, who was clamped onto the youngest of the previous crew. Clair was nearly singing when she spotted the kiddie table, and Matt was a little gentleman and served her first. I think I could come to love that boy quite a bit if he keeps treating my little charge like that.

Sliding into the bench next to little ol' me, Hal seemed to be looking at the fluffy golden creations with something like adoration. "Who made these?"

Ben and his pap took the seats in the row behind me. I leaned up against Ben's legs (he twitched but then calmed) as Clair dragged Matt over. "I did."

"No..." Ben gaped, shifting a little to help the both of us into a more comfortable position.

I laughed lightly. "Yes. Ask Weaver - he was the one who guarded the door."

"Where'd you get the mix?" Tom asked when Ben seemed to be struck speechless and Hal moaned through a mouth of pancake-y peasure.

"There's this little store I seem to know about. There's enough for, erm, fifteen or sixteen breakfasts. It was tucked into the back of this library, so no one must've noticed it. There's a lot of things there. I'll take you guys later, if you want."

"Did you even get any sleep?"

"I got a few hours before you came in," I answered offhandedly, grinning when Hal finally came up for air. "Enjoying those, are we?"

"Thank God I shot you and brought these heavenly bits to the Second Mass."

"That good?"

"Better." And he dove back into his plate. I shook my head a bit and slid my second pancake onto his plate, giving him four. He surfaced, giving me a confused look. "You'd give me this?"

"It's not a miracle, Hal. I can make another - what, each bag makes 160-ish and I used five - eight hundred or so at any time I well please. Plus, I already had two rejects back in the kitchen and that would've been my fourth. I think you'd appreciate it more than I would."

"Truly?"

"Yes, but I don't think I'll be doing this again for quite a time. My leg is absolutely _killing_ me and - what're you doing?"

I twisted a little to find Ben stuffing his jacket between his knees and my back, providing padding. "Your back's gonna go on protest soon."

Blinking, as I tended to do, I nodded slightly and turned the other way to see Tom smirking at his middle child. His plate was empty, so I gave him the chocolate chip pancake I'd bitten out of and a subtle 'Shut-Up-And-Stop-Teasing-The-Crap-Outta-Your-Son' eye narrow. Tom sighed and began chewing grumpily. I smiled brightly and turned back to check Ben's plate.

It, too, was empty.

"Want this?" I murmured, holding the paper plate and third pancake up to him.

"Thanks."

He took it and I half napped. Making food for that many people, single handedly no less, tires you out. Yes, the room was full of people who could potentionally be out to get me, but I felt quite comfortable in that moment.

"Violet?"

"Yes Air?" I didn't open my eyes, but I did tilt my head a little to show I was listening. Who knew Ben's knees could be so sleep inducing?

"There's a girl over there staring at you. Does she know you?"

Slowly, I pushed myself into a position more suited for awake-ness and looked to where she was pointing. Indeed, a tanned brunette lady probably a few years older than me was gawking.

"Who's she?" I asked Hal, who'd finished with pancake four not two seconds ago.

"Who?"

"The girl staring at me."

"Ben?"

"I said girl, you idiot."

He grinned. "I know." Then he sobered and followed my finger. "Oh, that's Lourdes." He waved her over. "You'll like her."

Reluctantly, she followed commands. I took in her posture and came to the conclusion that she had a crush on Hal. The blush on her cheeks helped this idea along.

"Good morning, Lourdie. Aren't the pancakes amazing?"

"Yes, yes." She seemed a little distracted.

Ben made some type of movement behind me that jerked me at Hal. I managed to keep my wound from getting any weight pressed on it, since that was the only way to get the pain receptors working. May I have a moment of silence for the powers of Advil?

"Hi. I'm Lourdes. Anne told me about you."

Well, no use beatin' 'round the bush. "Did you know me? Before?"

She froze, seeming a little socially awkward. Finally, pursing her lips, she shrugged. "Kinda. I remember seeing you around my med school with this brunette guy who was the younger foster brother of a classmate."

"Did you know my name?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Did you know his name?"

"Not really, no. He was obsessed with his bow, though. You both were."

"Yeah, I assumed as such."

There was a bit of awkward silence.

"So..." I cocked my head, careful not to get any hair in Ban's plate. "How old were we?"

"Fifteenish? Sixteen?"

Hal 'ha!'-ed under his breath at me. I thwacked him in the shoulder.

"Do you know anything about us? Either of us?"

"I'm sorry, Violet. You could've been a lion tamer for all I knew. I just recognized your face."

I deflated, sinking into Ben again. "Okay. Thanks anyways." After a few seconds: "Crap, where did my manners go? I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself during the Spanish Inquistion. I'm Violet Flowers, though I'm not actually sure that's who I am."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

There was a few minutes more of awkward silence, and I decided to leave the area to get away from it. "Well, bye all. I'm off to get my handy dandy little red wagon."

Clair nearly shot outta her seat and attached herself to my belt loop. "I'm going too."

"When's school start?"

She glared at me and went back to Matt's side. "You're gonna play with me during lunch."

"I sware. Love you."

"Love you too."

And with that I was off to the kitchens to get me the little red wagon to park under my cot until it was needed again. All through the halls, people smiled at me like an old friend, waving merrily. You get them a good breakfast and suddenly you're family. Weird.

"Violet!"

I didn't look over my shoulder. "Oi?"

"Let me get the guys together - we need you to show us to that store."

"Fine. Meet me by that truck with the happy heads etched into the dust."

"Hal, you go with her," Tom demanded a little quieter. "She might need some help from here to there."

"I can still hear you, Tom. And I'll be alright for five minutes alone."

"You sure?"

"Yes, man. Let me be."

Well, our little excursion to the library's store was interesting. Once I showed them to it, I was shoved off to the side. I didn't much mind, 'cause my leg was threatening an all out war and they had the tedious task of packing and transporting all the crap. Instead, I just got to cripple-limp around the library, taking it section by section. Honestly, this building I knew better than the back of my hand (literally, since I was still getting used to my hand and I could probably walk this library blindfolded, listing off rows).

Someone's footsteps were muffled in the carpeting. "Violet?"

"Yes, Hal?"

"We're leaving with the truck. We'll be back in fourty-five minutes, but there's no room unless we put you on the front bumper... D'you want me to wait with you?"

"It's okay. I have something I want to look up anyways, and all ya'll keep singin' and talkin' too loud." I slipped a bit into that Southern accent at the end instinctively, a little irritated with their constant fussing over moi. Food was worth a lot more, and it's not like I've been _mortally_ wounded. Yeah, I had to use my weapon as a walking stick, but I could brace myself half against something and fire just fine when worse came to worse.

"You sure?"

"I'll make you a pancake if you leave me be. It will be one of the last off the griddle, and part of piping hot stack with your name on it..." I raised my eyebrows. "Deal?"

"Your possible endangerment for pancakes? Okay."

I snorted and waved him away. "Good luck. Try to run over some t - skitters for me."

"Will do," he called back over his shoulder. I heard the roar of the truck's engine, and then silence. This one was the comforting silence, the one that meant I was absolutley alone.

So I took a few seconds to absorb the library. Dusty, musty, and utterly perfect. Rows upon rows or books, completely untouched. The green carpets careworn, the shelves smoothed by years of wandering fingers (my own fingers trailing along the spines as I tottered around was second nature, so I assumed that that was the reason why the shelves below the books were as smooth as polished glass). There was that _feel_ of knowledge in the air as I meandered.

And the _smell_! Oh, the smell. Out in the streets, it was dirty, nitty, death-filled; hopelessness and unhappiness permeaded _everything_. Out there, aliens had invaded and peril was everywhere. This marvelous place was virtually untouched, almost holy. I think, if I shut my eyes, I could pretend that the twitchies and da Mobbies hadn't come, that I was just a screwed up girl in a normal world. Instead of the truth: I was a defenseless girl in a cruel world.

Yes, I could get all that from a smell. It's a talent.

After a good number of minutes, I came upon a book I seemed to know intimately. _The Art of War_, by Sun Tzu. I remembered so many tidbits from this, it almost felt like coming home when I opened it to a random spot.

_Chapter Two, Section Twenty_, my subconcious told me, right off the bat. I almost snorted. How funny it is that I can remember a book's exact chapter and section by looking at the first word on the page, but I can't remember anything about _me_. Life's like that, I suppose.

Looking down, I sighed.

_Thus it may be known that the leader of armies is the arbiter of the people's fate, the man on whom it depends whether the nation should be in peace or peril._

A bitter laugh. Sun, my old friend, how right you are. I may not be leading an army, but I'm certainly in charge of my fate and whether or not -

What was that?

I tucked _The Art of War_ into the pouch attached to my quiver and manuvered myself into a corner. Silence, deceptive silence, fanned out, layed thick and sweet across everything.

_Sk-sk-sk-sk-sk-skeeeh, sk-sk-sk-sk-sk-skeeeh._

Twitchie. _Large_ twitchie, judging by the last beat to every sixth step, since they primarily put their weight on the last leg to move and the longer it takes to repeat is the more alien lard it has to move.

It was coming through the back door, in SW corner, where a small back alley could serve as their escape route. What's with me, skitters, and adjacent alleys?

I'm at the absolute opposite side of the large room, already aiming, ignoring the whining in my leg. I really don't want to break the almost religious (though I don't believe in a God, which makes that all the more spiritual) aura in the library by spilling blood, but I don't want to be murdered at the same time. Inaction is the quickest way to death, only after stupidity.

_Sk-sk-sk-sk-sk-sk, sk-sk-sk-sk-sk-sk._

Thin twitchie, meaning a two on one. May the odds be ever in my favor, _please_? Man, I can even paraphrase a quote from Suzanne Collins' _Hunger Games_. Thinking of, I can also remember Hanging Tree poem/songie/thing. No time to let my mind be on that, though, Twitchie Two is...

There was a kind of hissing clicking noise. I tensed (my leg began filling out papers for physical abuse at this) and steadily pulled back until my left hand met my cheek. The razor tip was very shiny in the dim library light, completely lethal.

Just before passing up the shelving unit that would reveal me and have it recieve an arrow through the face, Twitchie Two paused. There was more of that infernal noise, and then they both retreated as fast as Fatty Twitchie could go.

I didn't unstring until the silence changed back; stopped being all psedo-silent-and-empty-when-_really_-it-was-filled-with-two-creatures-who-would've-BITS-ified-me-or-killed-me-on-the-spot-if-I-wasn't-hidden-almost-impossibly-well to that welcoming, you're-completely-alone-so-stop-acting-so-parinoid-if-you-want-to-keep-your-frayed-mind-in-the-condition-it-should-be-in silence.

And, yes, there is a difference between the two types of silence. You wouldn't get it until you've experienced it.

Returning to hobbling around the library like I wasn't potentionally insane, I found me a comfortable chair, dragged it into a place easy to defend, and settled down for all of twenty seconds. Then the need to move took over and I leapt up.

Only to hear even _more_ sounds, this time from the front doors. There was no truck engine, so I highly doubted Tom and his crew were back to pick up another load, and only the sound of footsteps. Bipedal, light. Human.

"God, it's been forever since I was in here."

I knew that voice for somewhere. In the back of my mind, like someone was doing the Can Can and taunting me 'cause I can't (can't) remember. Man, that was a horrible half-pun off of Can Can. "Can't (can't)"? Really? Depressing.

Anyways, I was suffering from tip-of-the-tongue syndrome, except it was more that-other-teen's-tone syndrome. Heh. Not very funny.

Wait, back to the fact that somebody - more accurately, three somebod_ies _- had come into my place not five minutes after a pair of twitchies left, and they could be even more dangerous. Oh joy.

"Hurry up, Jason. You're wasting time. Who knows when those two twitchies'll be back."

Oooh, someone else calls 'em twitchies. I feel so un-alone in the world now.

"Both of you, quiet," a real gruff voice grunted. "It's deceptively silent."

_Now_ I feel un-alone. See, look, somebody understands my silence... Issues. I dropped my ready-to-shoot stance, feeling that I should know these people, especially the Teen With The Voice (TWTV), and that they meant me no harm.

"Really? Why don't I just go searc - "

"'Ello," I murmured, since the second voice came around the corner.

The man was burly, and he jumped, instinctively lashing out with a combo move. My face caught it.

There was a lotta blood and I actually spat out a very long, very complete front tooth into my hand, already feeling my lips and left temple/eye area swelling and bruising. Man, could that man pack a punch.

For a moment, I flew, feeling highly aerodynamic...

Until I encountered the floor.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry. I never meant to." Burly was kneeling at my side in a flash, helping me to sit up and looking absolutely flustered. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Of course I hurt you, I nearly beat you across the room. Are you hurt badly?"

"Meant me no harm" my pasty butt. Ah well, at least they were nice. People just seem to like injuring me when we meet.

"Daniel, what'd you do?" It was Gruffy, who came around the corner and seemed to have already resigned himself to some horrible accident.

"I think I knocked her unconcious. And lo - I think I knocked out her front tooth." He seemed absolutley horrified.

"'M not u'scious," I mumbled to him, spitting that coppery blood outta my mouth and into the proferred l - is Burly truly holding out a cloth kerchief?

"Good, good, great! Fantastic. But... You're bleeding. A lot."

I wadded up the already-bright-red-with-blood square and shoved it in where my tooth should be, slipping my actual tooth into my pocket for safekeeping. A little wobbly, I stood up and braced on the conveinently placed wall, scanning the isle. TWTV was making noise in the other side of the library, even though he could obviously hear us. I think he might've been afraid of blood.

What I meant was 'I'll be fine' but what I managed was "Mph, mph mph."

So I pulled out the thing and repeated myself, sadly noticing that I couldn't say my "f"-s. This is unfortunate. Wonder what the Second Mass and all its Masons'll say. Let alone how Clair will react...

The truck roared outside a distance away. I cursed. Thickly, I managed, "You guys've gotta get outta here, there's my group, and then ya'll will get some trouble." Smirking a bit inside, I continued. "One even shot me a couple of days ago, twice, so who knows what they'll do."

"You were _shot?_"

"It was only in the leg, and I can limp better than most. Don't feel bad, sir, just get going. Please. I'll have enough trouble explaining this away, let alone when they - " The engine spluttered to a stop. "Go, go. Now. Move. You in the back corner, Jason, get too. Don't worry a bit, though ya'll will probably have to find another store to supply yourself with."

They flew out, TWTV glancing my way and then looking like he'd seen a ghost. I may have mirrored that, seeing as he was the boy in the photos. Burly had to carry him out the back while he seemed like he was ready to claw his way to me. I smiled most painfully and began making my way to the front doors. My mouth was hurting more than my leg, which didn't bode well.

"Viol - _what happened to you?_"

"Hello to you too, Maggie." I mumbled through the cloth. "I ne..."

Wooziness, thy name is Violet Flowers.

"Ah, crap."

For the second time in three days, I passed out from blood loss. And I probably landed right on top of Maggie, who was giving me this horrified stare.

_Clair's gonna kill me for not playing with her at lunch_, was my last real thought.


	4. I Meet the Author & I'm Alive! No Der

I had the weirdest dream in my semi-catamose, you-lost-too-much-blood-you-idiot,-so-now-you're-gonna-get-some-wacky-arse-dreams-in-return state.

There was this blonde girl grinning at her computer screen, wearing a Resident Evil 2 shirt and cupcake PJ bottoms, her bedhead curling everywhere. "I got me a 'nother review!" she shouted... At nothing. Weird kid. "That makes TENNNNNN!"

So I looked at this 'review' she was so estatic about. There was, indeed, a small little blip from a _xxBlueButterflyHottixx_ talking about... Being "IN LOVE" with something? How some "it" couldn't get any better? Me? And Clair? What's this about an update or she dies horribly?

"What is this?" I asked the blonde chick.

She jumped and turned, then gave me big deer-in-the-headlights eyes. "Hello... Violet...?"

"Where am I? How do you know my name?"

Brushing uncontrollable bangs out of her way, she turned her face up and scrutinized me. "In my house. And I just do; I invented you, y'know."

Skeptically, I sized the girl up. Thin, wiry, and somewhat tanned. Not too much of a fighter. "Like a goddess, eh?" Not highly pretty, either.

"Not really. And stop estimating me, it makes me feel useless."

"If you invented me, how come you can't stop me?"

"'Cause I don't control, I _invent_. Then my inventions run amuck and I try to reighn them into just one fictional universe. It's all very simple."

"I don't agree with that."

"Didn't think you would. Now, how do you feel about the name Jason vs Sam? I'd like some insight."

"Uh... Jason?"

"'Kay, thanks. I'm glad I named him right last chappie, I was worried for a bit. Where d'you think you could've gotten that bow?"

"Dunno."

"Can I shoot it since I thought of it?"

"No."

She looked affronted. "Fine. Just for that, I'm not gonna give you back your history. So there."

And then I felt myself getting sucked back into the real, twitchie filled world, her big green eyes the last thing I saw. So, apparently, this crazy blonde chick was an almost goddess who'd invented me? Man, I'm unlucky.

I heard an "Exc_use me_?" from somewhere and felt an invisible slap to the back of the head... Which was odd, since I was currently resting it on one of the hospitial pillows. Best not think on that.

"Violet?"

I kept my eyes closed as I sat up (pulling the blankets with me, 'cause they were very warm) and took count of myself. Pain in leg. Lots of pain in face. One eye swollen rather threateningly. No other boo-boos. Nothing an Advil couldn't remedy.

Observing another moment of silence for its powers, I opened my good eye.

And found, hovering in front of me, a Ben Mason, in one of the rare 'Crazy Eyed' forms. I blinked a few times to focus on him, then raised an eyebrow. "Somethin' wrong?" There was a bit of a problem with my s, which didn't bode well.

"You're alive!"

I raised my eyebrow even higher. "Yes, that's the general theme when a person sits up and talks. What's with you?"

"I was worried."

"Anything been going on... However long I've been out?"

"Another day, meaning that we have about five until the civilians leave. Umm... Nothing's happened?" He was a horrible liar.

"I'm hurt, not dead. Tell the truth and don't worry about my mental stability."

"Hal feels like it's all his fault, Maggy says you owe her a new shirt since you soaked hers in blood, the civilians are dying for your pancakes, Anne can't put your tooth back and no one else knows how so you won't have one, Clair hasn't let Matt outta her sight and I've yet to see him complain..."

I took in the rest as he rambled, and mentally searched my bag for my painkillers. Finding them in my mind, I leaned over to find them with my hands... And instead found my back was, for the most part, bare.

"Who took my shirt off, Ben?" My f was jacked up too, so it took me another try to say it correctly. Man, my mouth hurt. Must... Get... To... Painkillers.

"Lourdes was afraid you'd broken your ribs."

I sighed, leaned over, and dug through the bag, puling out a shirt along with my trusty bottle of Advil. I ignored Ben's blushing and stammering when I pulled it over the sports bra, and just swallowed the pills without water.

Half an hour to go until there's no such thing as my owies.

Pulling down my pants just a tad, I encountered a crisp new bandage over my bullet wound(s). Good, 'cause poor Ben didn't look like he could deal with seeing my thigh and who knows what'd happen if I unvieled more of it. Hitching them back up, I hunched and began lacing those darling combat boots of mine.

"What time is it?"

"Six-ish."

Nodding a bit to myself I stopped abruptly with how much that actually hurt. Man, I can't even nod. This sucks. "Thanks. So, everyone's at dinner?"

"Yep."

"What say you to making a huge, dramatic entrance?"

"I'd prefer not, but I don't think it's possible with you."

"So that's a yes?" I smiled up at him hopefully, tying my last double knot and grabbing my bow to stand. I reighned in the lack-of-blood-dizziness and steadied myself. There was a whimper from my thigh, but I chose to ignore it.

He debated, then held open the door for me. "Anne's gonna flay you alive for this."

"Ah, you're helping me break out, so she'll have your skin too."

"I meant the tooth thing. Maggy found it on the sidewalk after your dropped, and apparently you're not supposed to let yourself bleed too much. Anne doesn't like how often you seem to."

"Yeah, I just _try_ to bleed to death every other day, Ben. It's a major life goal."

Some random old dude grinned when he saw me making my stumbling way by. I waved a bit, since grinning back was out of the picture as long as my face was broken like it is. Oh the power of pancakes in a post-apoctalyptic world...

"What are you plotting to do?"

"Plotting?" I glanced at Ben, mildly amused. "Isn't that a little too harsh?"

"No."

"Quite unfortunately, you're right... I was thinking of doing the whole Wounded Warrior Wobble. Ever heard of it?"

"No, and you're a little late, Violet. Would you like chicken and rice or soup?"

Indeed, we were in the food line, which eliminated my chance at doing the WWW at the door, and I was being served... "Soup's probably what's best for my mouth, dearest boy of mine."

Ben ever so graciously helped me get my food and get seated. Many people stared on my way by, possibly 'cause I couldn't see out one eye, my face was a big bruise, and I was using my bow all Gandalf-like again. Maybe.

Hal was staring morosely at his chicken and didn't spare me a glance when I squeezed in by him on the bleachers. This was the dinner rush, so room wasn't available. Ben somehow managed to sit back down behind me again, and I hummed him a thanks when he padded my back with that fluffly (yes, fluffly) jacket.

"Some welcome you've given me," I told Hal psedo-huffily after finishing my bowl and trying my best to pretend I didn't taste my blood as it went down. Do they have band-aids for the mouth, possibly?

Anywho... He jumped, obviously not having noticed me. Then he turned really pale, and seemed slightly sick.

I frowned. "Do I look _that_ horrible?"

Benn patted my shoulder (which was almost level with his knees) and made a negative sound through his bite of chicken and rice.

"You're alive!" Hal looked ready to hug me but, thankfully, refrained from doing so.

"Yes," I answered patiently. "I _am_ alive."

"No, but... You looked so beaten up... Then the bruises just got even worse... And now you're up and hobbling like nothing's ever happened."

"Umm... Well, something did happen, Hal darling, and I'm currently under pain meds so I can waddle around like nothing did. I knew the dude didn't mean it, anyways."

"Who did it? Did you see his face?"

"Wipe that bloodthirsty look off, please. It doesn't suit you. And I think I might've known one of the dudes before I lost my memory, 'cause he seemed real familiar. Anyways, it's parcially my fault - I'm the one who scared the crap outta him in a dark-ish room. And they'd just seen the twitchies exit the... In fact, you didn't hear anything."

"Twitchi - oh, skitters. There were skitters in the building when we left you?" Hal had the whole Does-Not-Compute expression. "Really?"

"Erm... Not really. They kinda came in through the back after you left. One was really obese - I named him Fatty - and the other one nearly found me. But then they heard the other dudes coming and ran off. Then I scared Burly who double dosed me to the face, and then Gruff came 'round the corner. Both, though a lot of it was Burly, apologized profusely while TWTV - the one I thought I recognized - hid so he didn't have to see the blood. I think he's afraid of it. Anyways, Burly gave me his kerchief to stop the blood flow, and then you guys pulled up and I told them to skedaddle so you wouldn't shoot the crap outta 'em."

He blinked many a time before nodding slowly and going back to his food. I guess he'd gotten all the info the first time. Brownie Points to him.

"You named a skitter Fatty?" Ben chortled.

"Yes, I did. And he was fat. His last leg took a long time to move, which is how you know they're fat. The other one wasn't fat, so Fatty was the fat guy and the other one was kinda just Twitchie Two. I'm not very imaginative when it comes to naming things."

"I can see that." He took my plastic bowl from me and went to chuck it.

"Don't be mean," I shouted after him.

"I'm agreeing with you," he hollered back, already returning from his junk jaunt.

"No, dearest Ben, you are insulting me under the pretense of agreeing with a statement I earlier... Stated." I paused to give a gargantuant yawn. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to go to sleep."

"Don't wanna."

I knew Ben was raising his eyebrows. And then I felt myself getting lifted up, and being gently thrown over his shoulder, if such a thing is possible. I nearly speared myself on one of his spikes, but managed to twist so my face was smacked into his upper gluteus maximus. I "didn't notice" him freeze (insert eye roll here) and took the small hesitation to grab my staff/recurve and try to find a more comfortable position.

As if by magic, everyone turned to stare at us.

"Are you fufilling my dream to make a huge, dramatic exit, dearest?" I braced my arms on his lowerback and kinda-sorta-push-up-ish-thing-ed to see the side of his face.

He smirked at me, seeming to come to a end to some mental war, and left out into the hallways. The ride was surprisingly smooth. "Of course, sweetheart."

I mock put a hand to my heart, nearly loosing my balance and having a death-by-spike experience, and batted my eyelashes. "Did you really just call me sweetheart, dearest?"

"Yeah, I've decided that you can't have all the nicknames."

"Ah, but _that_ is a pet name, not a nickname. There is a difference."

"Not to me."

I shrugged mentally and went back to resting down his back, careful not to stab myself on those ex-BITS-ifier spikes, idly watching the halls go by and people gawk stupidly. "Aren't we supposed to be there?"

"I'm taking you back to the hospitial."

"What?" I squeaked. "Don't bring me back there!"

"You need to. Anne will want to check on you."

"I'm fine. See, look, perfect. I don't wanna spend the night in there. Please don't make me."

"You need to, Violet. You've been shot twice and punched in the face twice more in just half a week. You need hospitial staff to check on you. That means you have to spend the night in there."

I hugged him around the middle, making sure not to press my face aginst the fabric of his tee. "Pweese?"

"No." This one was a little less steely, and a lot more strangled. "You're going."

"If I am, you're staying too."

He growled, unintentionally giving me a very nice massage. This growl was more defeated than angry, but it was still quite soothing on my abused muscles.

"I mean it," I threatened. "I'll do something to make sure you'll be in there just as long as I will."

"Fine."

_Yay!_ I mentally cheered. "So we're going back to the room?"

"No, I'm sleeping in the hospitial with you. Anne better thank me for keeping her patient in the room after all this is done."

Shoot, I gave him an ultimatum and he took the greater of the two evils. What's wrong with the world?

"Violet?"

I came back to present. "What happened to sweetheart?"

"You seem to react better to Violet."

"Ah. Okay. Whattya want?"

"We're there, so I have to put you down, _sweetheart_."

"Whenever you're ready, dearest."

He gave me the weirdest face when he thought I wasn't looking. Meanie.

Anne happily welcomed us back, seated him in the bed next to mine, made a few embarassing comments, force fed me some type of medicine, and left.

Not soon after that, I heard Ben snoring lightly. I listened for the type of silence, deemed it non-lethal, and let myself slip off.


End file.
